Fanfiction is filled with what-if's … or as Terry Pratchett calls it, the 'trousers of time', where - in an infinite number of universes - all the different eventualities of life are played out to their conclusion.

This short story suggests what might have happened at the Meryton Assembly if a particular horse had lived through the night, and consequently there was one more gentleman for the ladies to dance with that evening.

~~<>@<>~~

Another Fine Meryton Assembly

Old Mr. Pickard stared solemnly out of the window, across the rolling Hertfordshire hills. Over in the distance he could see the spire of Longbourn church poking through the trees, which were clinging onto the last of their orange-hued finery. To his left, the tall, bare hedgerow marked the boundary between his land and Netherfield Hall, which had recently been let to a young single man from Yorkshire.

He watched as the pale yellow sun began to sink closer to the horizon. He detested the shorter days of autumn and winter. His old bones had begun to ache in the cold weather, and he could never get really warm, no matter how many logs he ordered to go on the fire.

He had just bidden farewell to his old friend, Sir William Lucas, who had enquired whether Pickard and his son would be attending the Assembly at Meryton that weekend. The news was that Mr. Bingley—the same young man from Netherfield—was attending with a large party of ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Pickard was far too old for any such frippery, but he considered that he should at least suggest it to his son. Perhaps he might find a suitable wife there, which would end at least one of the worries Mr. Pickard had been having lately.

His son Robert was a plain, flat faced man of five and thirty, who—if Mr. Pickard was honest with himself—was not the smartest cravat in the drawer. Around the locality, he was known by the nickname 'Nodd', because of the way his head wagged enthusiastically up and down whenever he was embarrassed—which was pretty much any time he was in company. Even his father uncharitably thought he looked very much like an over-eager puppy, waiting for the next stick to be thrown.

However, Robert was his only remaining child, and therefore the one who would be entrusted with the family estate once he was gone. Pickards had farmed at Hillfield for many generations, and he would not allow his son to be derelict in his duty. He must find a wife; preferably one who would put up with his little … eccentricities.

With a deep sigh, Mr. Pickard walked through into the hall and called for his coat and hat. Burroughs, the ancient Butler, wrapped a scarf around his master's neck to protect him from the cold before dropping the greatcoat over his shoulders. Pulling the pale leather gloves over twig-thin fingers, the old man was ready to go outside.

The biting cold hit him as he left the house, and he walked as briskly as his old legs could carry him. Across the yard, he followed the wall until he found himself at the beginning of the stable block. Jack, the stable master, welcomed Mr. Pickard warmly. The skin on his weather-beaten face crinkled as he smiled, and his black hair was now heavily speckled with streaks of iron grey. Perhaps I should get some younger staff to keep Robert company, Mr. Pickard thought grimly, everyone else at Hillfield is almost my age or even older!

"Jack, I am looking for my son."

"Aye, sir. Nodd's in the far stable, with his favourite. She's not feeling herself, sir." Jack led the way to the final door in the block and opened it slightly to allow his master passage.

As the old man's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see the mare stretched out in the hay and his son was lying next to her, whispering words of encouragement, and stroking her neck gently. "Robert?"

"Yes, Father?"

"How is your horse?"

"She is not well. I know not if she will live the night," Robert replied with a sigh. He rubbed his hand along her flanks and gave her a pat before standing up and brushing off the loose bits of hay from his clothes.

"Sir William has just been to see me. He says there is an Assembly at Meryton this weekend. The young gentleman from Netherfield will be attending. I thought it would be a good chance for you to make his acquaintance. As he is so close to us, he may turn out to be a good friend for you. Someone your own age."

"Does he like horses?" Robert asked.

"I am sure he likes horses very much."

"Well, perhaps if she is feeling better by the weekend, we can go. If she does not make it …"

Old Mr. Pickard patted his son awkwardly on the back in commiseration. His son loved his horses, and was an excellent rider, but for some reason if a horse became sick in the stables it was usually the beginning of the end. They never lasted long after that.

And, of course, in hundreds of thousands of universes, that horse sunk lower and lower until she finally passed away, and Robert Pickard was far too upset to visit the assembly as his father suggested.

However, in this universe, it was different…

~~<>@<>~~

As he wandered through the doors into the Assembly Room, the confusion of sound and sight momentarily stunned him. The room was full, with people everywhere he looked. Some were dancing, others stood around the edge of the room, talking and laughing. Young ladies, sitting out the dance, tapped their feet discreetly to the music.

At the end of the hall, a group of musicians bent industriously over their instruments. The tune was unfamiliar to him, as were the movements of the occupants filling the room in front of him, but then again, he knew he was far more at home in a hay filled stable than at such a gathering.

"Robert, how good of you to join us," Sir William Lucas welcomed him graciously. "Where is your father?" he asked, glancing around the room for his friend.

"He decided not to attend this evening, Sir William. He was feeling a little tired."

"Ah. Well, you are here ... and you come prepared to dance with these lovely ladies, I hope?"

"I will do my best, Sir."

"Captial ... capital! There is nothing I like better than to see you young people dancing. You will not find any prettier young ladies than those here tonight, I'll wager. I will leave you to find yourself a partner. Enjoy the evening." With a brief bow, he bustled off into the crowd.

Even using the broadest definition, he would not be considered a good dancer, but Robert scanned the crowds looking for one face … the only person with whom he really wanted to dance.

There she was, standing with her sister and Charlotte Lucas. Her beautiful chestnut hair had been curled, and it bobbed gently against her neck, like the gentle sway of a horse's mane as it ran free in the fields.

Of course, he had always been aware of Elizabeth Bennet. The Bennets were a popular family in the neighbourhood, with their brood of daughters—he thought they must have at least six or seven of them now—and no one could fail to be aware of them. The eldest had never caught his attention, but he had first become aware of Elizabeth Bennet in church, one Sunday when she was perhaps fifteen or sixteen. The sunlight shining through the large window on the east side of the nave, which colourfully depicted St Francis of Assisi holding a little lamb, had played through her chestnut hair, which was exactly the same shade as his favourite horse at the time. The beams of coloured light surrounding her that morning had been like a beacon to him, and he was completely drawn in by her youthful beauty.

Since then he had watched her during the service every Sunday, without fail. A few times while riding in the area he had even met her walking in the countryside. Although he tended to be uncomfortable around people—preferring the company of horses—Robert had made a real effort to strike up a conversation with her, but for some reason she had been reluctant to speak with him. He remembered her backing away from him slightly, as he had walked his horse towards her. Perhaps she was shy as well, but, in his mind, that only added to her allure. They would be perfect together. He had told Lady Margaret all about her, and she fully agreed with his choice.

Just as Robert was considering the idea of walking around the crowded room to ask her for a dance, the whole assembly went quiet, and every head turned in his direction. What were they staring at him for? Had he done something wrong? Were his breeches unbuttoned?

However, it was not Robert who attracted the attention of the whole room, but Mr. Bingley and his party of ladies and gentlemen, who had entered behind him.

As the noise of the crowd returned to its original volume, Robert watched curiously, as Sir William Lucas greeted the newcomers in his own inimitable style. He generously offered to take Mr. Bingley around the room, providing introductions to any of the occupants he was not already acquainted with.

As Sir William drew close to Robert, he stopped and turned to his guest. "Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy. I have the pleasure of introducing Mr Robert Pickard. Mr. Pickard is one of your closest neighbours, at Hillfield, which is on the eastern edge of your estate. His father was not able to attend this evening, as he is getting on in years, but we have been able to tempt his son to join us." The young man from Yorkshire bowed formally, but had a warm and welcoming smile, which made Robert relax. Sir William added, "Mr. Pickard has an abiding passion for horses, Mr Bingley. If you ever need any advice about a horse, you could not ask for a more knowledgeable advisor."

"Oh! Well, I will certainly know where to come if I need help then. That is a spot of luck, is it not, Darcy ... Darcy?" The tall, dark haired man standing behind him grunted non-committally, as he stood fiddling with a ring on his left hand, an expression of utter boredom on his noble features.

"Perhaps, Mr Bingley, while you are in the neighbourhood, you could come over to Hillfield, and I will give you a tour of the stables. I can also introduce you to Lady Margaret."

The gentleman known as Darcy looked surprised at the offer, but his face soon softened into something that looked like relief. "Yes, Bingley, that sounds like an excellent idea. This might not be such a poor choice of neighbourhood for you after all," he suggested, before following Sir William to the next group—Mrs Bennet and her family—who were eagerly awaiting an introduction to the gentleman from Netherfield.

The dancers stepped and whirled, moving through the prescribed figures in perfect harmony with their neighbours. As they returned to their original places, the music ended with a flourish and each couple parted with a bow and a curtsey, before moving away from the centre of the room to look for their next partner.

Robert loitered behind Mrs Bennet and her daughters as Sir William introduced the two gentleman he had spoken to earlier. He could see that Mr. Bingley was rather taken by the eldest Miss Bennet. His smile grew wider as she agreed to join him for the next two dances. Holding his breath, Nodd waited—half expecting the dark, brooding one to do likewise with Miss Elizabeth—but he only stalked away rudely without saying a word.

Grateful for the opportunity, Robert moved closer. She stood not two steps away from him, watching her sister dance, while her mother crowed over her eldest attracting the attention of the gentleman from Netherfield.

Taking a deep breath, Robert opened his mouth to ask whether Miss Elizabeth might be free for the next set. However, as he began to speak, he was jostled out of the way by an impudent young man who beat him to it, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.

Indignant that his place had been so usurped, he gathered his wits and fortified himself while standing behind a settee where Mrs Bennet was speaking with Mrs Long. So, Mr. Bingley was worth five thousand a year was he. And that other fellow—Darcy was his name—had ten thousand a year with an impressive estate in Derbyshire. Rich he may be, but all that wealth would not save him from being ravaged by the raging hoard of motherhood that was Mrs Bennet when one of her daughters had been so slighted.

"Mr. Bingley was so pleasant, and took to my Jane straight away," she told the patient Mrs Long, who had already heard of Mr. Bingley's manners at least once already. "Nothing would please him more than to ask her to dance, but his friend—that proud, disagreeable man—just walked away without a bye nor leave, slighting my poor Lizzy! What a disagreeable, horrid man. You just wait until I tell Mr. Bennet!"

Robert listened to their conversation with half an ear, while watching Miss Elizabeth dance. Her movements were so dainty, and her smile so charming, he felt his stomach roll. Could this be love? He would have to ask Lady Margaret, she would know.

Returning to the hall after addressing an urgent call of nature, he realised she was sitting out this next dance. Now was his chance to speak to her, and perhaps even to take her onto the floor for a set or two.

As he moved closer, passing a group of onlookers, he heard a voice that he recognised as Mr. Bingley's.

"Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

Robert was bemused by his attitude. Why would he attend an assembly if he had no intention of dancing?

"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!" cried Bingley. "Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Darcy, looking across at the eldest Miss Bennet.

Robert could not agree with him. While he could appreciate that Miss Bennet was pretty, she did not have the striking beauty of her sister, and she smiled too much.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld. But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" Robert watched as Mr. Darcy turned to regard Miss Elizabeth briefly. At that moment, she caught his eye and he looked away. However, Robert saw the beginning of a frown begin to mar her perfect features, and he knew that she could hear every word.

Mr. Darcy continued, in a cold and haughty manner, "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

It is only fair to point out at this time that Robert Pickard spent little time in human company, and had consumed a larger volume of wine than was usual for him in one evening. He felt a growing anger welling up inside him as he glanced across to see Miss Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy's cruel words. Her face was pale, and her expression momentarily stunned. He could not bear to see her so upset.

"Now, see here, Mr. Darcy," Robert called as he walked up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, with more anger than sense, "I demand that you apologise to Miss Elizabeth."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of course!" He pointed in her direction, to the mortification of the lady concerned. "If you insist on commenting on a lady, you should not speak your opinion so loudly." The anger, which had fuelled his protest, was now leaking away into the floorboards of the assembly room. It left him feeling a little foolish that he had challenged a gentleman so much taller than himself, as he found himself directly addressing Mr. Darcy's exquisitely knotted neck cloth.

"I am sorry. I do not have the understanding. Of what are you speaking?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Robert spoke slowly this time. Surely, this gentleman's wits must be addled! "You insulted a fair lady, within her hearing, and I must demand satisfaction from you."

He watched as Darcy looked around the room, and they both caught sight of Miss Elizabeth Bennet as she slipped through the main doorway, handkerchief in hand. Robert's first thought was to follow her, but he was too late.

Mr. Darcy's long legs had already carried him to the door.

Watching the man leave, Robert Pickard sat down for a moment. What was he thinking? His ineptitude in social situations had meant that he had drawn more attention to Miss Bennet's distress by his ill considered outburst against Mr. Darcy than the man's own rudeness ever could. How would she ever forgive him?

Well, he had to try and make amends, at least. Walking over to the refreshment table, he took another drink, to steady his nerves. Turning to move away, he stumbled and almost knocked over a lady behind him, causing her drink to spill down the front of her dress. After apologising profusely, he aimed himself towards the door, weaving his way around the dancefloor. His progression was marked by a number of apologies to his fellow guests as he trod on toes and generally fumbled his way around the room. While his nerves were now as steady as a rock, the rest of him felt as steady as the ocean.

He walked out of the doors and into the cold night air, looking around blearily for Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, but they were nowhere in the vicinity. The chill in the air caused him to shiver, and he stumbled back into the Assembly room for another drink—something to warm him up a little before he ventured out again. He then found himself a chair by the door, from which he could watch for her return and make a proper apology for his outburst.

Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time. Where was Miss Elizabeth? How long did it take to slap a man's face? He assumed that Mr. Darcy would be hearing her thoughts of his behaviour in no uncertain terms. After all, she was a Bennet daughter, and Mrs Bennet had never been backwards when it came to telling anyone her opinions.

Nodding his head nervously, he took yet another drink. The music sounded loud in his ears, and the dancers now appeared to be moving faster than ever. His attention was diverted as the outer door opened, and Mr. Darcy returned to the room with Miss Elizabeth. Robert could not help but notice the light in her eyes as she smiled at the man who had been so insulting only half an hour earlier. He checked his watch again. No, not half an hour, they left the room more than an hour ago, and it appeared that they had not been idle during that time.

Robert watched as Mr. Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and held it gently, brushing a finger lightly across the back before he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. He was saddened to see that, rather than being offended, or giving him the slap he deserved, she now seemed to be rather pleased by his attentions, and blushed prettily.

Mr. Pickard jumped out of his seat, and followed them unsteadily as they walked over to Mrs Bennet. He did not stand close enough to hear what was being said, but after five minutes of conversation it was obvious that Elizabeth's mother no longer found the 'horrid man' to be proud or disagreeable. Robert had seen enough, and certainly had taken more than enough wine for the evening, so he decided to leave the assembly, and return home. Surely, Lady Margaret would advise him what the best course of action might now be.

As he stepped back, Robert bumped into yet another lady, knocking her reticule out of her hands. She bent to collect the contents of the little bag, just as he stepped forward to offer his assistance. Trying to stand upright, the loud ripping noise, followed by an horrendous shreik, made him aware that he had been standing on the hem of her dress.

"You oaf!" she cried, "My gown is ruined."

"Oh, my poor sister," her companion muttered. "Caroline, let me help you away from prying eyes, dear, and then I will retrieve your pelisse from the cloakroom to spare your modesty."

The two women began to bustle away, one of the ladies holding her arms across the front of her dress to maintain her modesty as best as she could. Robert, feeling terrible for the trouble he had caused, followed them hoping to be able to make up for his terrible error. By the time he had found the lady he had to apologise to, she was alone, in a half-darkened side room. Being less experienced with women than he was with horses, he entered the room to speak to her.

"Please, Madam, allow me to express my sincere apologies."

"You! Get out of here. Look what you have done to my dress … no, no, do not look!" she cried tearfully as she tried to cover herself.

"If there is anything I can do for you? Perhaps I could pay for a replacement?"

"Replacement? That will not help my current situation, Sir. I am mortified! Leave now, before I ask my brother to call you out for the shame you have caused me!"

Nodding his head with extreme embarrassment, Robert moved forward slightly to bow to the lady before removing himself. However, in the dark he did not see that the rug on the floor had buckled, and he tripped over the obstruction, landing face down directly between the lady's exposed cleavage.

"Caroline?" An angry voice sounded from the doorway behind him, but Robert could not get purchase with his feet to right himself. Everywhere he tried to put his hands to right himself provoked a screech from the lady beneath him. He was finally rescued when a pair of hands grasped him roughly from behind and pulled him away.

As he turned, he realised that it was Mr. Bingley who had assisted him to stand. However, he was not looking at Robert, but at the woman for whom he had caused so much distress.

"Caroline, I demand to know the meaning of this. I know you are angry about Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, but you hardly know this gentleman."

As more candles were brought into the room, the lady known as Caroline spluttered and squawked as she collected the ruins of her dress around her. Robert looked at her closely for the first time that evening. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were highly coloured, and her deep auburn hair reminded him strikingly of one of the foals born the previous season. He realised at that moment just how well the young lady would look sat upon a horse. He smiled as he pictured her riding around the estate with him.

"It is Mr. Pickard, is it not?" When Robert confirmed that he was indeed Mr. Pickard the young man said, "Well, I am deuced surprised at your behaviour, and at any other time I would demand satisfaction, but my sister's honour must be maintained. Under the circumstances, I demand that you marry her."

"But, Charles! You know nothing about this man."

"Be quiet, Caroline, of course I do. Mr. Pickard's father owns Hillfield. His expectations are more than sufficient. He is a gentleman, and you will be a gentleman's wife, rather than the great-granddaughter of a Pig Jobber. Not only that, he is well known for his expert knowledge of horses. If I knew nothing else about him, that would be enough." Turning to Robert he asked, "will you marry my sister?"

Robert shrugged. "I will be more than willing, if it is acceptable to Lady Margaret."

"Who is that? Your mother?"

"My mother? She died three years ago."

"Your aunt, then … or another female relative?"

"No, of course not," Robert said proudly. "Lady Margaret is my horse."

~~<>@<>~~

Web design and content © 2007 by Heather